


One Night

by Churbooseanon



Series: One Night And Then Some [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 12:38:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1818814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Churbooseanon/pseuds/Churbooseanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All York is asking for is one night. It’s all he can have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Night

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure whether this counts as happy or not so I’ll leave it out of HH. It is adult though, so continue below the read more at your own risk. One of a pair of requests in a fanmail, here is the rough summation:
> 
> Why don’t you show me a little bit of spine  
> You’ve been saving for his mattress, love  
> I only want sympathy in the form of you crawling into bed with me
> 
> "ONE OF MY FAVE FOB SONGS I LOVE THESE LINES THE MOST usually i like it for like person a and b like each other but a is with c but likes b too? Might work for Y/W/N like Wash is with north and york is like asking wash just one time no one has to know i know you feel this between us too."
> 
> Added this as well from another song.
> 
> One night and one more time  
> Thanks for the memories  
> Even though they weren’t so great  
> "He tastes like you only sweeter"

“One night.”

He asks the same question every time, because he knows asking for anything more is too much.

Asks the question when they’re alone in the locker room after training sessions, after North leaves and before anyone else can come in, Wash pressed against the locker and York’s lips against his neck.

Asks while they pick over the food set out for meals, his voice a whisper in Wash’s ear that York’s certain makes the younger man’s ears burn.

Asks again when he’s ducking a kick meant to slam into the side of his head during the training fight, laughing at the way it leaves Wash’s guard open for half a moment even though he knows the question was going to be there, a low, hungry growl falling from York’s lips.

Asks without words when his foot brushes against Wash’s under the table. When he says hello in the mornings and later before everyone splits for sleep. Asks with a gaze whenever Wash sits across from him at the table, in the way he brushes their fingers together when he takes a box of shotgun shells during a mission, by smiling at him whenever they meet.

All Wash had to do was say no, just once, and York would stop asking. He knows that, promised himself that before he asked the first time. Once in two months of asking and he would have stopped, the whole thing forgotten and an easy friendship in its place that wasn’t easy but was necessary.

Wash never says no, and so York keeps asking until his fingers are brushing lightly through Wash’s hair, damp from the sweat of a particularly intense training bout and Wash shivers and finally gives him an answer.

“One night.”

York didn’t know it was possible to want Wash more than he had before those two words.

* * * * * *

“Why?”

The question hangs heavily between them. Far too heavily for York’s taste, but there it is. With a sigh he sits down on the bench beside Wash. No, beside is wrong. They are back to back. It’s easier this way, and York knows it’s only because he doesn’t want to face what he’s asking, has always been asking of his friend. Especially not with that question being thrown at him.

He has answers, too many of them to be honest. So many things he could say, so many ways to admit how he should have had Wash moving below him, moaning, long before this.

Because he’d wanted Wash since the first time he removed his helmet in front of them. Because he hadn’t known how to put it into words that first time they had been alone. Because he hadn’t thought to call dibs, to ask North for a fair shot at the beautiful new recruit. Because it wasn’t fair that North had a warm smile and an easy way about him that made men melt for him. Because he didn’t have that ability to say a few words and win a heart. Because he’d never had a chance for more than a single night so he needed to steal what he’d never earned. Because York was the guy you picked up at the bar to fuck and North was the guy you brought home to your parents. York was the fuck and go, North was the commitment.

So all he could have was one night. The best he could hope for was a moment of bliss where he could pretend, just for a short time, that this was his. That they had the companionable silences. That they were the ones who made something of each other in the insanity of the project. That nothing would tear them apart because they were stronger together than they were apart.

“It’s one night, Wash. Does the answer really matter?”

* * * * * *

“Besides, I could ask the same of you.”

He could, and Wash wasn’t sure what his own answer would be.

Maybe it would be hard and brutal. That he wanted a return to the days when York smiled at him and there wasn’t anything hidden behind that smile.

Maybe it would be gentle and comforting. That he’d always wanted York and if it had to be only for one night, he wanted it to be the most amazing night possible.

Maybe it would be honest. Because it was all he could offer. Because he hated that their friendship had become York asking, even when he wasn’t. Because he loved the feeling of those lips on his neck, those hands down his back, those furtive moments stolen in a place where privacy should never have been possible. Because North was gentle and slow and sweeter than sugar on his lips, and he knew York would be hot and hard and burn all the way down in his gut.

Because they’ve been in a holding pattern since that night he’d gone back to North’s room and learned his real name and plead and moaned and yet spent a lot of the time wondering what it would be like with York.

Because he wants them both and he can’t have that any more than York can have a single night. But he wants to give it anyway, so he’s never said no. Never said stop. Never laid down the line between them.

So here he is instead, inviting him over the line that should have been there, offering the only thing he can give. One night. One chance to get it out of their systems so that maybe, just maybe, they can pretend it’s okay from then on. That they don’t clearly want each other, that he doesn’t let York touch him and tease him and bait him.

“It’s one night, York. The answer really doesn’t matter.”

* * * * * *

“York…”

His name is a moan on Wash’s lips as the door slides closed behind them and York pins him to it. There is need there, want there, and it drives York wild. Their lips slam together, meet with a burning force that York hadn’t quite realized was boiling up inside him since the agreement. Already his hands are fumbling at Wash’s clothes, pulling and tugging and not caring that he hasn’t made any progress with them yet.

He’s only got one night. One night to explore. One night to live all his fantasies. One night to find all the buttons and abuse them mercilessly to draw every last sound Wash is capable of from those damn lips. The strange disconnect between not having enough time and wanting to take his time is exciting in its own way.

Wash’s hands sink into his hair and tug and York moans into their latest kiss. His hands find Wash’s ass and knead at it, earns him a groan that goes straight to his cock. The contact must go to Wash’s, because he can feel something hard pressing right back against him and it makes him hungrier than he’d known he could be.

Hands are a blur of motion, stripping every piece of fabric they can find. It’s a blur and York doesn’t mind because that isn’t what is important to him right now. What matters is his grip on Wash’s thighs, the way Wash’s legs wrap around his waist, locking at the ankle, and those arms around his neck as they kiss. The bed isn’t far, and it takes York too long to get there to dump the smaller man because his lips are so intent on that soft neck, and he wants so badly to bite down, mark him, claim him in a way that North will see and know.

“No marks.”

Wash’s voice is tight with a command that York doesn’t want to obey but does.

* * * * * *

“Wash…”

York’s voice is thick and heavy and Wash squirms on the bed as York looks down at him. There is something wonderful about those eyes trailing over him, hungry and filled with a burning kind of want that drives him mad.

Yet he can’t help but compare. North’s eyes are gentler, if no less hungry. North’s names are smooth and soft and give more than they take. York’s weight adds to the bed and it’s not the same, which is surprising even though it shouldn’t be. His hands tangle in longer, stiffer hair as York’s hands spread his legs and those lips find the bare skin of his thighs and kiss up and down. Teeth brush lightly against his skin and he knows York wants to leave marks. Leave his mark. Claim something that wasn’t his, could never be his, and fuck Wash wants that.

Doesn’t let himself have it. One night is already so much, too much, and he pulls sharply on York’s hair every time the teeth start to do more than scrape. Earns him a predatory growl every last time that burns in the pit of his stomach, makes his hips roll, makes his own voice return a hungry groan.

The way York looks up at him, gray eyes blazing with want, reminds him of North all over again. Of the gentle gaze, the lips sweet like candy, the experience that guides and gives long before taking, and how right this feels in its own way.

Then there are lips wrapping around his exposed cock and damn if the comparisons don’t get easier even though his brain is shutting off. The swipe of a tongue too heavy, to be the familiar, but he arcs up into it anyway, and then there are hands on his hips holding him down, but not with the bruising intensity he desperately desires. Through slightly hooded eyes he can see York’s cheeks hollow out with a hard suck that makes him moan so loud that he’s certain North’s going to hear him a hall over.

“Mark me.”

A request, an order, moaned around him and he wants to scream with the sensation.

* * * * * *

“God.”

The word falls from Wash’s lips like a prayer as York lets Wash slip from his mouth and crawls up his body. So many things he wants to do. Fantasies toyed with and discarded as he moves up that beautiful body. He’s only got one night, only a short time, and he can’t waste it. This is all he gets, he knows that as he pauses to toy at a nipple with his teeth, leaving the other for his fingers, and he listens to the way Wash whimpers with want and loss and simple need.

Hands fly to his shoulders, and there are nails digging into his skin. They sting, ache, and he’d never ask for this in another situation. But he needs those, needs them to remind him long past when this is done. Marks North can’t take away from him, that he might rub alcohol into every day so they might scar and leave him something of the man below him.

Their lips meet all over again with heat and hunger and need and York reaches between their bodies, presses their cocks together, takes them in his hand. He’s wanted to do this for too long. The second fantasy. A simple touch with complicated sensations pushing them both over an edge with each others’ names on their lips.

He gives himself a few slow, hard pumps. Enough to get Wash pleading and thrusting into the grip and creating a second level of friction and then he lets go. Can’t afford to waste it all on that. Like he couldn’t waste it all with his mouth. Won’t bother to waste it on Wash’s. A single night to catalog every last sensation that was Wash. One night with to prepare for an unknown quantity without.

He takes what he can, gives what he wants, and damn if the sound Wash makes when he lets go doesn’t make it feel good in an entirely different way.

“More?”

* * * * * *

“Please.”

Wash hates begging, loves it right here and right now as he thrusts up against York’s leg. North doesn’t make him beg. If anything he’s too restrained. York would never be considered that.

There is a possessive growl pressed into the next kiss and it’s even better because it’s a question, and Wash has to wiggle away. York’s hands clamp down against his shoulders for half a moment before letting go. Wash fumbles for a moment, his fingers catch against the draw, open and search out what they both want, both need.

In seconds there are slick, cool fingers stroking down his cock, over his balls, back until they are pressing purposefully against him. Not in yet, just circling, teasing, driving him mad. North would never tease unless he asked for it. York defaults to it. His hips arch up, his lips can’t hold back the mewling plea.

York’s chuckle is low, throaty, moan inducing all on it’s own as the first finger slowly pushes home and aches, hurts, feels right at the same time.

He isn’t going to last long like this. North is slow deliberation, unwrapping him like a gift and exploring every inch. York is intent, a forest fire burning its way through his body and aiming to leave nothing behind but a smoldering wreck. He likes it. Loves it. Needs it so bad as the finger moves, not a slow glide but short, purposeful thrusts that ache and make him whimper for want of more all at once.

A second finger and he can barely breathe as they start to work him open in a way that goes beyond simple filling. His eyes meet York’s for a moment and he can see it all there. Want. Need. Hunger. Far more than one night in those eyes, even though his actions make it quite clear he’s trying to get it all in one go.

He pities York.

And York’s fingers hit the spot just as that thought settles into his mind.

“You make beautiful noises.”

* * * * * *

“Fuck me.”

It’s a plea, hungry and York trembles at the heat in it. Honestly, he’d been expecting a ‘fuck you’ for the observation, but instead he gets a look that is borderline lecherous; no, fuck that, it’s flat out pornographic to go along with those noises. If only Wash knew just what those noises did to him, or maybe he did. No way to know. No time to test.

Time enough for a third finger. Can’t make this hurt too much, can’t fuck him up too badly. That’s a mark in it’s own way. He’s promised no marks, save the scratches down his back, the finger shaped bruises on his shoulders, the bite on his neck that he can’t rightly remember how he got but he enjoyed anyway and was looking forward to explaining away to North by lying right in his face while Wash watches and blushes hot and pretty.

Wash is thrusting against his fingers now, seeking more as he works that body open. Every other noise is a gasp or a mewl that shouldn’t manage to be that high pitched but damn if they aren’t anyway.

If it wasn’t one night he’d spend an hour here just teasing, toying, playing with Wash’s body while he was strapped down, unable to act. A whole hour dedicated just to those noises. No. A night, a night about driving all those sounds from Wash’s lips over and over again. As it is York pulls his fingers away, listens to that beautifully needy sound as Wash tries to follow them, and reaches for the condom and the bottle, prepares himself.

Takes a moment, a long one, to tease Wash all over again. The head of his cock brushing against him as his hand closes tight around Wash’s erection and pumps once, twice. Hips lift up to get more of that sensation and York takes that moment to press in, just a bit.

“York.”

The moan tears from Wash’s lips like a dirty secret.

* * * * * *

“I want to hear you.”

He wants it not to be an either or question. He wants an and. A both. A together. North’s careful touches slowly preparing him, York’s sinfully good mouth keeping him good and distracted in the mean time. York’s sucking at his neck and North’s lips on his. Wants one set of hands pushing him down at the shoulders and the other set at his hips. To suck and touch them both and hear their voices.

Instead he gets the rest of York, slamming home not with as much force as he can tell the man wants to use, but enough to make his whole body shudder and him to moan York’s name again.

A strange moment of tenderness in the way York’s fingers seek out his hand, pins it to the bed, weaves their fingers together. One night Wash tells himself. One night York agrees in the way that he gives him just enough time to adjust before pulling out and slamming back in with a new spike of pleasure. One night he moans without words as his body trembles and arcs. One night York’s hand insists as it wraps around his cock and starts to set a pace that matches his hips.

They both wish it was more, and Wash knows that as well as York does.

He has to remember to breathe as York picks up the pace, moves it into an area North reserves for the very end. Wash knows he isn’t going to last long like this, and he understands why York’s doing it. One night, yes, but the key word wasn’t one. No, they both know it’s night. They both know with every touch and every thrust and every kiss York steals between motions that they’ll do this again as soon as they can. A single stolen night to do everything they’ve imagined, because Wash knows now York’s thought about it just as much as he has.

One night didn’t have to be one act.

“York!”

* * * * * *

“One night.”

It didn’t take long for either of them. Too much want. Too much excitement. Too much awareness that all they get is this. A single dark night stolen for everything they want. York gets that now, gets that in a way he hadn’t before.

They don’t last long and Wash comes with a buck of his hips and a scream of his name that they both know don’t make it through the ship walls and York doesn’t last long after that. Shortly after he’s pulling out, collapsing next to Wash, and doing the thing he hadn’t dared to let himself want.

He wraps his arms around Wash’s waist, pulls him into a tentative embrace. Hates himself for the way that Wash stretches out, molds their bodies together, and mumbles in pleasure at the contact. They both want so much more than one night, and neither of them will say it.

It doesn’t need said.

York doesn’t let himself be still too long. Drinks up the heat of Wash’s body pressed against his, pretends that this is one night of a hundred, that they can sleep the night through entangled in one another. Instead he knows they will start again soon. They’ll both be tired, both worn out from the first round, but they will steal a second, a third, as many as they can fit in to their one night. York will get to hear that voice raised in pleasure again, and that matters.

One night is all he gets.

Wonders if he’ll take the risk and ask Wash to take him instead. He’s only done that a few times before in his life, but he’s only got this one night to fit a lifetime into, and maybe it’s worth it. To feel himself full of the other man, to be at his mercy, to beg him instead of being begged.

“One night.”

Wash’s agreement is a whisper and makes York hurt in a way he can’t put into words.

He puts it into a kiss instead.


End file.
